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no girl ever dropkicked me at first sight the way Yasmen did. I want to see her smooth brown skin, these sweet, full lips, the thick fan of lashes, on my children.
Love
I see the calm, the certainty, the love suffocate her doubts, smother the hesitations.
That’s the part of depression people don’t consider, that at times it physically hurts.
My therapist helped me understand that the back pain and the headaches I developed were most likely related to stress, and stress hormones like cortisol and noradrenaline contributed to my apathy and exhaustion. Which exacerbated my depression.
happy. I’ve had some dark days the last few years. Days I wasn’t sure how I’d make it. But today. Tonight.
Grief is a grind. It is the work of breathing and waking and rising and moving through a world that feels emptier. A gaping hole has been torn into your existence, and
everyone around you just walks right past it like it’s not even there.
“If I waited until I don’t have feelings for Yasmen before I moved on,” I tell Vashti as gently as I can, “I never would.”
Baaaaaaaabyyyyyy @_@
The truth of my words sinks in for both of us. There it is. As much as I don’t want it to be the case, getting over Yasmen is not a thing I may ever be able to do. That doesn’t mean I can trust her or even be with her again. I’m not sure I can do either of those things, but I can’t root these emotions out of my heart. They’re woven into the fiber of who I am. It’s an emotional impasse I need to resolve for myself, and until I have, I can’t involve anyone else.
Thats a good man standing on BIG BUSINESS
“I know you care about me,” Vashti says, tears glittering in her eyes. “I can give you time. We can keep trying to make this work.” That sounds exhausting. Fighting what I feel for Yasmen has become a full-time job. Moonlighting to make sure I’m giving Vashti what she needs is not fair to her, to me, not even to Yasmen. “You deserve everything from the man in your life, Vash,” I say, reaching over to hold her hand. “I hoped that could be me. I really did, but I don’t want you to settle for less.”
Also keepin it extra real !
quagmire.
I always loved this word
I’ve never told her I loved her. I’ve always known that wasn’t true. I’ve given those words and my heart to exactly one woman ever, and that backfired on me in a shit bomb of pain and regret. The next time I say those words, it will be because I’ve somehow managed to tear Yasmen out and, by some miracle, let someone else in. But that time is not now.
danger
“I was no walk in the park, Merry.” “Who wants to walk in the park? I think that man would run wild with you.”
I lean forward and fist-bump him, winking. “That’s my boy.” Kassim beams and sits up taller in his chair. It’s crazy how he flourishes under the slightest praise I give him. His confidence is so easily bolstered. I guess that’s what a father’s unconditional love and acceptance should do for a boy.
“Day.” I catch and hold her eyes, touching her shoulder gently. “She made limoncello pound cake.” “She did? That’s my favorite. Aunt Byrd’s the only one who ever made it for me.” “I know, but I’m sure your mom found the recipe in Byrd’s notebook and wanted to try.” “Oh.” She bites her lip. “Okay.” “Can you just be kind to your mother for me?” “Even if it tastes like crap, you mean? Just fake it?” “You remember that ashtray you made when you were in second grade?” “Yeah.” She grins up at me. “It’s on your desk at work.” “It’s hideous.”
Her smile falls and her eyes narrow. “If you so grown,” I say, lightening my tone, “you’re old enough to know the only reason that thing is on my desk is because you made it. I don’t even smoke. It’s not about how much I love it, but about how much I love you.” She nods and I push thick curls away from her face, leaning down to kiss her forehead. The doorbell rings, and she beams like sunshine.
“I slept with my ex.” The bald words barrel out of me. “Twice.” “Okay.” Dr. Musa adjusts his glasses, his professional demeanor unshaken. “Before we go there, let’s—” “Naaaaaaaaw, Doc. We need to go straight there. I don’t need no deep breaths. No affirmations. And I for damn sure don’t need that feelings wheel. I know exactly how I feel.” “Then tell me how you feel.” “Like an idiot.” “That’s not a feeling.” “Dammit. Gimme the wheel.” Lips pressed and holding back a smile, he hands me the sheet of paper with the bright colors and emotions listed on it. I look at them, struggling to find myself
...more
I kiss the top of her head and release her. “I’m gonna go catch your mom up on the Charlotte trip.” “Oh, is that what you call it, Daddy?” She air-quotes and quips, “‘Catching her up?’” I huff out an exasperated laugh. “You too grown for your own good.” “I know,” she says, proud.
First time miss sassy pants made md laugh
I never told anyone that Byrd was wearing her favorite pair of earrings, and one had slipped halfway out. I carefully pushed it through the small hole in her ear. Never told anyone that Henry had my mouth. I held him, light as a ball of cotton, dark hair plastered to his little head, and I traced his lips. He had my lips and I wanted to cry because I would never hear him cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. And I can still smell the paint mingling with Yasmen’s perfume in the nursery when she told me to go. When she delivered the greatest loss of my life. When I lost her.
Our traumas, the things that injure us in this life, even over time, are not always behind us. Sometimes they linger in the smell of a newborn baby. They surprise us in the taste of a home-cooked meal. They wait in the room at the end of the hall. They are with us. They are present. And there are some days when memories feel more real than those who remain, than the joys of this world.
Do people remember the exact moment they fall in love? I’ve learned it’s not one moment, but a million of them. I fell in love with Yasmen dreaming of our bright future over cheap Chinese food in a raggedy-ass apartment with no heat and shitty water pressure. I fell in love with Yasmen a little more, a little deeper, every time she took me into her body, showed me how passion burns your tongue when you taste it. When she rolled up her sleeves and poured her creativity, her matchless energy, into building a business together we can be proud of. When she gave me our children and became a mother
...more
I’ve fallen in love with the warrior woman who walked through fire, the one who came through stronger, reshaped by sorrow, reformed by grief, reborn in joy.
I think of her today with her small fist over my heart. She stood bravely in front of me asking that I take her back. Offering me the chance to have everything that really matters again—my home, my family, my wife. She offered it all ...
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It begins with a tremor, a realization that love happens in the fragile context of our mortality. That love and life occur just beyond the reach of our control. There is only one letter of difference between love and lose, and somewhere along the way, for me they became synonymous. I understand now that something broke in me after my parents died that somehow healed wrong, and I started measuring how much I loved people in terms of how much it would hurt to lose them.
A breakthrough
“Elbow noodles, cheese, milk, eggs, salt and pepper to taste.” I mutter the ingredients under my breath over and over like an incantation I wish could summon Byrd here. Or at least call on her wisdom, because I’ve messed things up so badly, I don’t know what to do. If the ingredients are the prayer, the steam rising from the boiling pot of noodles is the incense and this kitchen a temple where I would sacrifice just about anything to have her here with me right now. “I miss you so much, Byrd,” I say, licking the tears from my lips. “Still.”
On my wedding day, she said, “I love you like a daughter, Yasmen, but if you hurt my boy, I’mma whoop your ass.”
